Tastes of Kouka
by Ciarei Ceryn
Summary: TASTE: /teɪst/ The sensation of flavour perceived in the mouth and throat on contact with a substance. A study on Zeno and the five tribes of Kouka.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: Akatsuki no Yona is the work of Mizuho Kusanagi**

* * *

Anyone who knew Zeno knew that he loved food. His small, lithe body belied a voracious appetite which was very rarely satisfied despite being on a steady diet of Mother Yoon's cooking.

No one knew exactly why the cheerful little blond held food in such a high regard, but what people did know was that the aroma of cooking food had the ability to achieve what little else could – wake Zeno up from his second favorite activity: sleep. Ah, one of the (extremely) few perks of immortality was being exempt from hell despite being a glutton and a sloth.

Truth was, Zeno had always loved food. Even in the good old days before all the headache-giving business with King Hiryuu and the Dragon Warriors, there had been a travelling priest; and everywhere the priest went, he made sure to sample the local delicacies.

But before Zeno became a priest, food played a significantly smaller part in his life. Zeno grew up in a then unclaimed land, free from the rule of any tribe. His days were simple and carefree, the diet bland and unchanging. All was well.

Eventually however, Zeno decided to leave the safe cocoon of that land, and thus his world – and his relationship to food – began to change. One week after bidding farewell to his home, Zeno arrived at Chi'Shin, the capital of the Earth tribe.


	2. Taste of Earth: Sour

**Disclaimer: Akatsuki no Yona is the work of Mizuho Kusanagi**

* * *

Chi'Shin took his breath away.

He reached the Earth tribe's capital shortly after noon and since then, Zeno saw more people than he had seen his entire life. Every available space was filled with vendors hawking their wares and all around, people talked, argued, and haggled. Indeed, the collective noise grated terribly on Zeno's ears, which were unaccustomed to the bustling sounds of city life.

Among the wares being sold was cloth. The assortment of fabrics was uncountable in number, robbing Zeno once again of his breath. For every style, each was offered in the seven colours of the rainbow, plus a hundred shades more. In the end, Zeno chose a simple bolt of cotton dyed rich gold. It felt smooth and soft against his skin, and its colour reminiscent of the midday sun.

There was a more practical reason for Zeno's loss of breath as well. The endless jostling and friction of body against body, baking under the sun's relentless rays, produced a stench like no other. Multiple odours, some fragrant but rarely so, mixed in the air to create a potentially toxic concoction. When Zeno could not stand it any longer, he ducked under a promising looking sign advertising Earth tribe's local delicacies and entered.

* * *

The interior of the pub/restaurant was slightly less noisy than the exterior. Men drank mugs of beer as they gambled and talked business at round tables in the dim center of the room. Others dined alone or in pairs at the bar. Behind the counter, two servers took orders and shouted instructions to a burly chef half-concealed behind a tattered kitchen door.

Zeno sat himself down at one of the stools by the bar, and signalled for a waiter.

"What'll you 'ave?" the girl asked him.

"Uh - what is there?" Zeno asked timidly. The request was met by a long list of obscure sounding names which meant absolutely nothing to him.

"Um, can you repeat that? Slowly?"

The girl gave him a critical eye, "you new 'round 'ere?"

"Erm, y-yes." Zeno stammered.

"Have the house special, it's Earth's specialty," she said with a slight smirk, "s'also general Geun-Tae's fav'rite dish." As the last words left her mouth, the serving girl seemed to puff up a bit with pride. This was a common occurrence, Zeno noted, whenever the Earth General's name was mentioned.

"I'll have one of that then."

"Will do."

* * *

A couple minutes later, the same waitress returned, tray in hand. Unceremoniously, she plunked the food down in front of him.

"Eat up."

The house special appeared to be chicken drizzled in some kind of sauce. Taking a piece gingerly between his chopsticks, Zeno braved a cautious sniff. Immediately, saliva flooded his mouth as his sense responded to the tangy, sour scent. Appeased, Zeno brought the piece of chicken to his lips. It tasted like a summer breeze, or the soothing coolness of the earth under bare feet on a hot summer day. The sourness of white vinegar and lemons was pleasantly tempered by the taste of garlic and pepper. Nevertheless, after a few bites, Zeno needed water.

"Uh, excuse me - "

The girl turned around with the swiftness of someone expecting the call, "Need water?" she smiled innocently.

"Yes, please."

"Eat some o' that instead." she nodded towards the other plate on the tray.

"Er, this is…?"

"Don't worry kid," the smirk was back in full force now, "no extra fees, it's part o' the special, swear to the Dragon Gods. Go on now."

Somewhat dubiously, Zeno picked up said food. It appeared to be some sort of green fruit, cut into thin slices. The whole thing sat soaking in a colourless liquid with sprinkles of white powder. Folding one slice into a mouth-sized parcel, Zeno stuffed it into his mouth.

– And promptly spit it back out.

"What is that?" Zeno cried – or attempted to with puckered lips. The girl, meanwhile, had dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

"Ah, always fun t' see you new'uns 'ave yer first taste," she said between snorts of amusement, "Them be green mangos, sprinkl'd wi' salt an' soaked in vinegar."

Mirth finally spent, she glanced over at Zeno, who was frantically downing glass after glass of water in an attempt to wash the acidic taste from his mouth.

"Aw shucks kid, I dunno you be that soft," she said looking a bit contrite, "But y'know, I hear'd the general once took up some fella's challenge. Poor fella got it in his 'ead he could out eat the general at mangos. Our Guen-Tae won o'course, but not 'fore them lips were white with acid."

"Well, I'm not the general am I?" Zeno, who had finally recovered, said somewhat crossly.

"No, s'pose you ain't," the girl conceded, "how 'bout I treat you for yer troubles eh? Meal's on me. Take it as apology fer the trick."

"Fine," Zeno said. Despite everything, he wasn't about to pass up a free meal – especially when his purse wasn't big to begin with, "but take away the mangos."


	3. Taste of Water: Sweet

**Disclaimer: Akatsuki no Yona is the work of Mizuho Kusanagi**

* * *

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Zeno would leave his boarding house – a relatively cheap one on the outskirts of town. Under the soothing blanket of darkness, Zeno would purchase whatever food was available from the still-open vendors and steal into the trees. His nimble hands and feet were adept at scaling even the tallest of trees, and so he did.

Up on the highest branch, the twinkling, shimmering fabric of the heavens appeared slightly less elusive than usual, and Zeno fancied it brought him closer to the strange, omnipotent voices in his head. In a sense, it kind of did, for it was there that Zeno often received visions and instructions from the Dragon Gods, though it did nothing to bring him closer to the celestial beings.

Afterwards, Zeno would quietly munch on his snack and tell the stars about his day. He told them about the Water Tribe, how calm and unperturbed they seemed despite rumours of tribal war looming in the horizon. Unlike the Earth Tribe, people did not push and jostle – even at the height of excitement. Their fluid movements were reminiscent of the water for which the tribe was named – steady, smooth, and graceful.

Food quickly became an indispensable part of Zeno's one-sided conversation with the heavens; for he had grown fond of food, and the delicacies of the Water Tribe did not disappoint.

Said to be bland by some, Zeno's sensitive tongue tasted the refreshing sweetness of Water Tribe's desserts. Rather than the sickening sweet of candies and cakes, they were the sweetness of the first sip of water on a parched tongue – a taste which no second sip could replicate.

After the food was finished, Zeno would rest silently up on that highest branch. Others may have feared death from falling, but not Zeno. Even then, he sensed that he had a greater purpose in this world, and the Gods would not let him die that easily (he didn't know they won't let him die at all).

It was in search that purpose that Zeno's wanderlust awoke once again in the spring of his fifteenth year. Heedless of the hushed but incessant murmurs of war, Zeno departed, this time headed straight for the heart of the whispered conflict, the tribe of fire.


End file.
